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The Space Between Trees

The Space Between Trees

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Published by ChronicleBooks
This story was supposed to be about Evie—how she hasn't made a friend in years, how she tends to stretch the truth (especially about her so-called relationship with college drop-out Jonah Luks), and how she finally comes into her own once she learns to just be herself—but it isn't. Because when her classmate Elizabeth "Zabet" McCabe's murdered body is found in the woods, everything changes…and Evie's life is never the same again.
This story was supposed to be about Evie—how she hasn't made a friend in years, how she tends to stretch the truth (especially about her so-called relationship with college drop-out Jonah Luks), and how she finally comes into her own once she learns to just be herself—but it isn't. Because when her classmate Elizabeth "Zabet" McCabe's murdered body is found in the woods, everything changes…and Evie's life is never the same again.

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Published by: ChronicleBooks on Jan 22, 2010
Copyright:Traditional Copyright: All rights reserved

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12/19/2013

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Chapter 
One
I’m in Hokepe Woods
this morning, like I am every Sunday, deliver-ing papers and keeping an eye out or Jonah Luks. It’s early when Idrive into the neighborhood, so everyone’s still sleeping. Me, I’m wideawake to see all those Hokepe houses cast in blue like the light in amovie theater ater the credits have gone up and out. The streets arereal quiet, too, not even one lone dog-walker yanking his pup awayrom something it wants to sni. I pull Mom’s car to the curb where Jonah always parks his truck. No truck, though—too early or JonahLuks. When I step out o the car, my breath pus in ront o me likesome strange language I’m speaking. It’s early March and the snow isfnally o the ground, but not the rost yet, and this early, it’s chillyout. I try to sink into it—my couple hours in the cold—and drag mysatchel rom the backseat, liting the strap over my head.The paper route is something I’ve had since I was eleven. Eleven-year-olds aren’t expected to stick with things, but I’ve stuck withthis, and now I’m sixteen and the oldest paper carrier on the list byabout three years. The only girl, too. This doesn’t embarrass me. Ilike the job. Anyway, it’s better than dripping medicine into someneighbor kid’s ear or getting my arms sticky scooping ice cream out
 
8
o a tub. The beauty o a paper route is this: You put a paper on adoormat. Done.Also, I like the Hokepe houses. They have these details to them—windowpanes tinted green like they’ve been made rom pop-bottleglass, brass sundials that cast spiky shadows, bunches o clematisso thick it looks like you could stick your hands in them and climbstraight up a wall, stained-wood porches, peaked windows, speckledbricks—all the good stu. They’re worlds dierent rom the housesMom and I rent, like the one we have now, with its screen doors sag-ging like a body’s pressed against them, the shag carpets hopping with feas, and someone’s greasy head stain on the wall above mybed. Now, it’s not like you’d call the Hokepe houses mansions—theyaren’t big or showy enough or that—it’s more that everything hasbeen thought about and put in its right place, and so when you stepup to one o their doors, you kind o eel like you’ve been consideredand put in your right place, too.Hokepe isn’t that large a neighborhood, but almost every houseorders a Sunday paper. It usually takes me two hours to nish mypaper route. I like to do the blocks in the middle o the neighbor-hood rst and save the ones on the edges—the ones surrounded bythe woods—or later. But today I must be walking slower than usualbecause I’m only halway done with the middle houses when I noticethat the sun has gotten its hairline up over the ground, which meansthat it’s time to catch Jonah Luks. Jonah must be slow this morn-ing, too, because when I get back to the place where he parks, histruck still isn’t there. So I drag out the next ew deliveries, rearrang-ing the contents o my satchel, straightening any askew doormats,and setting both eet on each porch step. A ew minutes later, I hear

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